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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337261">Deserved</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/navigatorsghost/pseuds/navigatorsghost'>navigatorsghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>By Your Hands Alone (series) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BFFs with Benefits, Light Sadism, M/M, PWP without Porn, Self-Esteem Issues, Sensual Play, Touch-Starved, Wing Kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:00:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/navigatorsghost/pseuds/navigatorsghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Scourge will never know why Cyclonus thinks he's worth the trouble, but he's absolutely not complaining. PWP except with no actual sex, just sensual touching and a lot of emotions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cyclonus/Scourge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>By Your Hands Alone (series) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2274728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Deserved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was prompted by a couple of commenters expressing sympathy for Scourge over at chapter 6 of <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725462">By Your Hands Alone</a>. You're quite right, guys, Scourge deserves nice things, so here we are. (Content notes/warnings: this one is pretty gentle, really. A bit of discipline/dominance kink and light sadism, some (super light) bits of humiliation and some associated negative self-talk. All totally consensual and nothing both participants aren't comfortable with.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"If you don't stop squirming, I'm going to wonder whether you really want this, Scourge."</p><p>He tenses at the words. His claws clench tight in the leadvelvet blankets wrapped around his fingers, face down in a padding block and trying to resist the temptation to bite it. Shame twitches through his fields.</p><p>It meshes perfectly with the disciplined sadism in Cyclonus's. Scourge is lying on his front with Cyclonus sitting astride his hips, and his wingmate is <em>torturing</em> him and has been for an hour. Fingertips on the backs of Scourge's wings, tracing slow, endless patterns that send charge, <em>pleasure,</em> sliding through his sensornets with the liquid weight and grace of mercury; just that, <em>just that,</em> and Scourge is starting to think he's going mad. It's not nearly enough to make him overload but it's <em>far</em> too much to focus on anything else. His sensornets are crackling and his cooling systems are protesting, his wings feel like sheets of cold fire from Cyclonus's merciless touch and the silver skeins of Cyclonus's charge dripping into his sensors. He's helpless and damn near broken and he can't even <em>move</em>.</p><p>And still the worst thing about it is that if he messes up, Cyclonus might <em>stop</em>. "Sorry," he manages and his voice is so ragged and desperate that that throb of shame redoubles. His aura twines pleadingly with Cyclonus's, clinging to his wingmate as best he can.</p><p>Cyclonus doesn't stop. Flicker-light touches, mirrored on both wings. The softest scrape of metal as he presses down exquisitely, gloriously harder <em>just for a moment</em>, and then lets up before Scourge can even manage a whimper.</p><p><em>Don't squirm</em> is too much to ask, but Scourge tries to obey anyway. His motive cables tense in random sequence, the effort of staying still distributing itself awkwardly through his frame in little snaps and twangs of strain. If he could just relax into this... but he <em>can't</em>, he never can. He wants it too much and it feels too good and he cries out as Cyclonus's fingertips trace shining-bright along the edges of his wings, his voice mingling with the ring of steel on steel. "<em>Cyc-!</em>"</p><p>Cyclonus chuckles, almost a purr, <em>enjoying</em> his desperate response. He flattens his palms against Scourge's wings and slides them up, a beautiful liquid drag of charge and pleasure that makes Scourge melt and moan and <em>almost</em> manage to finally untense under his hands. "Oh, <em>hahh</em>, oh do that again <em>please</em>..."</p><p>And because Cyclonus always knows when to <em>stop</em> being cruel he does, smoothing his hands back down over the same stretch of plating and then back up again, combing the electrostatic tangles in Scourge's fields into blissful alignment. <em>Oh</em> so lovely... he presses his face into the padding beneath him and whimpers, helpless and humiliated and he'd want to <em>die</em> of shame if it wasn't that this is <em>Cyclonus</em> doing this to him. Cyclonus who loves control and precision and the discipline of will, who gets off on acting cool and unmoved and contemptuous of his victims but in reality is savouring his every shiver and whimper with a master sadist's delight...</p><p>...Cyclonus who loves <em>him</em> and knows how much he needs this, and is willing to give up half his off-watch just to help Scourge get the knots out of his sensornets. <em>His best friend.</em> Stars and void, he'll never deserve this. "Cyc..."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>They never say <em>I love you</em>. Never. "...nothing." His voice cracks and his wings tremble as Cyclonus strokes over their bases again. "Please..."</p><p>"Hmh." There's a touch of mockery in Cyclonus's tone and Scourge squirms under it, simultaneously ashamed and relieved. He isn't getting any of this under false pretences, Cyclonus <em>knows</em> he's hopeless and still wants to touch and tease and torture him anyway and that feels so perversely comforting. If Cyclonus has already seen through him and is still here, then there's so much less chance that he's ever going to screw up badly enough to lose this.</p><p>And then static jags across his vision and he flinches before he knows it, his sensornets abruptly pinging a warning. <em>Too much,</em> he's used those pathways to the point of burnout and no matter how much he wants this, in another moment it's going to hurt-</p><p>"Had all you can take, Scourge?"</p><p><em>How did he pick that up so fast?</em> Cyclonus may not share Scourge's sensory capacities but his ability to read fields and feelings is still nothing short of uncanny. "...yeah," he admits, regretfully, grudgingly. If Cyclonus goes on this is going to turn into a whole different kind of torture and while Scourge would let him do it if Cyclonus really wanted to, it's not what they set out to play at.</p><p>Another soft breath of a laugh from Cyclonus, and he lifts his hands away. Scourge makes a pathetic noise and huddles into the padding beneath him. Just because he couldn't have handled any more doesn't mean he welcomes the sudden chill of Cyclonus's withdrawal, and his spark clenches. <em>Weak as ever, can't even get what you want without it being too much for you...</em></p><p>"Scourge." Cyclonus moves, shifting from straddling his hips. "Here."</p><p>Warm metal and moonlight-cool fields and weight on his back and hips, pressing him into the berth. Cyclonus rests his head on the back of Scourge's collar and his lips brush the metal there, tweaking an entirely different sensor pathway that <em>hasn't</em> already been stressed to failure, and <em>that's</em> when all the tension finally drops out of Scourge's frame and he goes hopelessly, submissively limp under his friend and nearly sobs at the relief of it. "Cyc..."</p><p>"Stay down."</p><p>The words are an order, quiet but firm. Scourge shivers. "Staying."</p><p>"Good." Cyclonus relaxes on top of him like he's just another spare padding block, and reaches down to rest his hand on the side of Scourge's hip, fingers curled over the sensitive ring of his thruster collar. So casual, that touch. As though every bit of Scourge's frame is Cyclonus's to use as he sees fit.</p><p>Then again, if that's how Cyclonus wants it to be, the last thing Scourge is going to do is argue. Not if, despite everything, Cyclonus still thinks he deserves this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Visit me and the muses on <a href="https://of-fire-and-light.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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